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1X11 – Pinnacle – Act II
“I’m switching the lights,” Jean said as she literally did just that. The room became bathed in a red light from the special compressed zenon-gas lamp that was built in next to the normal fluorescent bulbs.
“Don’t you think this is a waste of time?” Scott frowned as she approached him sitting on the MRI bed.
“No, I don’t,” she said with a clip to her tone, it hadn’t exactly been easy getting him in there, he’d been avoiding her all morning, “glasses.”
She held her hand out for the specs and he paused, he always paused at the thought of removing them. Then he’d look to the left, at the ground, as he pulled them off. His eyes would be closed until he removed the ruby quartz shades and he’d cautiously blink.
“Lay down,” she told him as she took the glasses from his hands, “you know the drill.”
The man was just in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt so she felt a little sorry for him lying down on the cold bed.
Walking over to the control room, Jean was glad that the Professor had deemed it necessary to purchase one of the machines for the school considering the nature of many common mutations. Housing it there was not only convenient but it allowed them to put in the special lighting so they could get more accurate readings of Scott’s brain functions as it took in and processed light.
“All done,” she said into the mic and started to bring him out.
He was already sitting up when she handed him back his glasses, “Hank will want to see you later after he’s had a chance to look at the scans.”
“Did you notice any changes?” he asked as he put the specs back on his nose.
“No,” Jean admitted, “but my specialty is genetics not neuroscience,” she pointed out, “Hank’s specialty is… everything. He might see something I’d miss.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Scott sighed and slipped off the table. She wasn’t sure if he meant that he thought she was as good as Hank or if he was that sure there would be no change.
Jean didn’t even get a chance to really think about it as Scott quickly started to make his exit with little more than a mumbled ‘thanks anyway’.
“So, what,” she was getting frustrated with the man, “are we going to pretend it didn’t happen?”
“That what didn’t happen?” he didn’t bother turning around, his hand on the door knob.
“You know what,” her words were terse, “when we were connected and our fears were being expressed through the image of David. The things he said—”
“Don’t matter in the real world,” Scott quickly cut her off.
“I’m going to have to disagree,” she replied, crossing her arms, “you seem to be afraid of me and I can’t figure out why.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” he finally looked back at her, over his shoulder.
“Then why, Scott?” she kept his gaze and resisted the urge to just go in and pluck the answer from his mind, “why be afraid?”
He answered her so quietly she almost didn’t even hear him say, “Did you ever consider that it’s you who should be afraid of me?”
Without giving her the chance to answer, Scott left the room which caused a shift in the color spectrum and she remembered that she still had the red lamp on. She glanced up at it, then down at her body which was all manner of red hues depending on the color of her clothes.
It never really occurred to Jean until that moment that when Scott looks at the world, all he sees is red.
…
Two figures walked up a snow covered ridge and while where they were standing was fairly clear, they had a limited visual range as the snow kicked up several yards ahead.
“That direction,” Wolverine sniffed the air, “I can smell the fuel.”
Carol pulled out a small pair of binoculars from her coat and had a look through the treeline, “Not seeing anything.”
“It’s there,” he assured her as he started down the ridge.
“I believe you,” she followed after, treading lightly on the rocky snow, “so, I hear you’re actually living at the school now.”
“Beats the back of my truck,” he responded in his usual gruff manner, “though my truck isn’t quite as noisy, or hormonal.”
“Has Chuck roped you into teaching yet?” Carol asked as she caught up.
“No,” he answered quickly, then after a moment, “I might be showing a few of the kids how to defend themselves.”
“So you are teaching then,” she couldn’t help the smile she was trying to squash on her face.
“It ain’t like that,” he told her as they got to the bottom of the ridge and approached the treeline, “there are kids who want to learn how to fight, to stand up for themselves, we both know how that is.”
“Yes we do,” Carol nodded, “so you’re teaching them.”
“I ain’t a teacher,” he repeated.
“You’re right,” she smiled, “you’d be a Sensei.”
Logan stopped and turned towards her, he was huffing and it had nothing to do with the walk or the cold. He held his finger up at her like he was going to yell but didn’t, instead he just shook his head.
“I’m not making fun of you, Logan,” Carol told him when she thought he was done, “I think it’s a good thing. You’ve been lost, wandering around like a ghost of the man you once were, it’s about time you found focus, found something worth fighting for that wasn’t just a flag.”
She knew he heard her words but she wasn’t so sure how well it sunk in to that Adamantium laced skull of his. All he did was huff and start heading in the direction of the crash site.
Carol smiled, ten years ago he would have pulled his claws on her and maybe even attacked her… he really was getting better.
…
Jean knocked on the door of the exam room and waited to hear Hank’s ‘come in’ before she went inside. Sitting on the table was Ben Hamill, a sixteen year old boy who could create and control fire though it often seemed to get the better of him.
“Just in time for the demonstration,” Hank told her as the large man took a seat a stool and scooted closer to Ben. He put on a mad-scientist looking head ban that had several glass magnifiers and colored pieces. Once he was settled, he said to Ben, “When you are ready.”
Ben held out his hand and within seconds a ball of flame sparked in the air and he effectively held a fireball like some kind of mystical wizard.
“Now, Ben,” Hank said as he changed through a few of the lens as he looked at the flame, “you said that you’ve been lighting yourself on fire?”
“Yeah,” he said uneasily, “here.”
The flame lowered down and touched his skin which did turn a little red but otherwise did not burn. Lifting his hand up, the flames latched on and it was like his fingers became candles.
“Fascinating,” Hank said, getting a better view and switching through his magnifiers, “your body is acting like a wick and wax though you are not burning off.”
While Hank was watching the fire, Jean looked to Ben. The boy sat there staring at the flickering flames with an intense yet lost look on his face, as if all of reality had fallen away from him.
“Ben,” she called his name and he began to blink rapidly as he suddenly doused the flame by closing his hand.
“Sorry,” he apologized, taking a deep breath, “I just, I dunno, I feel the flame and I just want to… become the flame? Like if I let go it will consume me.”
“Hhmmm,” Hank took his hand and started to scrape skin cell samples, “you have a little redness but I wouldn’t even call these first degree burns,” he turned Ben’s hand over to check the thin hairs on the back of his hand, “and there seems to be no loss of the hair follicles either, so other than the obvious damage to your clothing that would occur should you burst into flames, I don’t see why this should be a problem.”
“Wait, what?” that didn’t seem to be what Ben was expecting.
“In our research into mutations we’ve started to better understand the different between them,” Hank explained as he took off the headband, “we have tended to only list them as one of three things, psionic, energy, and physical, though this is often complicated by the fact that many mutations, such as yours, cross over.”
“I can psionically control fire,” Ben said as he tried to follow along, “but I also create fire which is manipulating energy.”
“Exactly,” the older man smiled, “but we are learning that a new classification system may be required and in that there would be a category for Elementals.”
“Elementals?” Ben frowned, “Like in that game Kitty and Ben always play?”
“Yes,” Jean answered for Hank who had no idea what Ben was talking about. “Elementals are mutants who do more than just control an element, they seem to become physically part of that element.”
“Is that even possible?” Ben looked equal parts interested and terrified.
“The human body is flammable and combustible,” Jean pointed out, “it is possible that yours has developed an immunity towards this tendency which allows the flame to burn off without causing damage to the skin.”
“I think the next course of action would be to test this,” Hank nodded as he made some notes, “in a controlled environment you let the flame consume you and see what happens.”
“But fire eats oxygen,” the kid shook his head, “how would I breath?”
“That would be why this would be a controlled experiment,” the older man smiled.
“We could use one of the telepath training rooms, they are fireproofed,” Jean offered, “we’ll get you some flame retardant clothing and might I recommend having Bobby there to quickly quell any fires should it get out of hand or you start to lose breath.”
“That would work quite well,” Hank seemed pleased with that plan though Ben was still frowning.
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Ben,” she tried to ease his fears.
“I know,” he didn’t look too sure about that, “but I kinda have to, one of these days I’m going to burn this school down if I don’t get a handle on this.”
Jean offered him a sympathetic smile because unfortunately… he was right.
…
Sitting next to his laptop sat a classic metal lighter that would stay lit until you flipped closed the lid, and at the moment the flame dutifully flickered as it waited for Pyro to finish what he was doing on the computer.
“And… done,” he hit the last key and Rogue looked up from where she was reading a surveillance report to see that he had some kind of telecom system up that would reroute the numbers on the phone he pulled off a USB tether.
“That time of year, eh?” she asked him.
“Yes it is,” he stood, snatching up his lighter with one hand as he dialed the phone with the other, after only a few moments the other line picked up, “Hey, mum, it’s St. John, just calling to see how everyone is doing.”
Rogue shook her head but couldn’t help but smile, but as she looked down at the report something caught her attention. Picking up another report she held them side by side, two trucks with the same Pennsylvania license plate.
“What have I been up to?” Pyro was walking around as he talked. “Well, you know that stuff you and dad didn’t really want to know about? Yeah, more of that.”
Deciding that this was the first break she had since her initial discovery, Rogue moved over to Pyro’s laptop and minimized the tracer program so it would still work while she used his system to access some supposedly secure databases. She brought up the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation and accessed their license plate registration files, punching in the number of the truck.
“Rogue,” Pyro thrust the phone into her face, “will you tell my mum I haven’t burned down any hospitals, charities, world heritage sites, or anything pre-industrial this year? I don’t think she believes me.”
Giving him a look, Rogue took the phone and said, “You’d be quite proud of him, Mrs Allerdyce, he’s managed to not destroy anything this year that didn’t truly and well deserve it.”
Pyro snatched the phone back, “See, you know Rouge would totally snitch on me.”
Taking the information from the registration of the license plate, assuming the plate hadn’t been swapped, Rogue plugged it into the state police database and hoped for a hit.
“Pyro talking to his parents?” Wanda asked as she sat down beside Rogue.
“His quarterly call,” she nodded, the system starting to ping back returns.
“I hope he realizes how lucky he is,” Wanda frowned as he walked by talking about the latest Australian election or some such.
“He does,” Rogue said off handedly as she went through the information and came across something promising, bringing up the face of a rather non-congenial looking fellow.
“Who’s this?” the other woman asked as Rogue scrolled through his fairly long rap sheet.
“Frank O’Reilly,” she read his stats and info, “and his truck was at two of the drop-off’s at two different Worthington Enterprises distribution centers.”
“I call that statistically suspicious,” Wanda smirked.
“So do I…” Rogue made a mental note of his last known address.
“Well, I’m going to have to get off before the ASIO, NSA, and whoever else breaks my encryption,” Pyro frowned, he obviously didn’t want to go, “so Merry Christmas and I’ll talk to you again after the new year,” there was a slight pause, “love you too, bye, oh, and to all you poor sods who are listening to this when you probably have something better to do, happy whatever doesn’t offend you, and you’re right, you totally don’t get paid enough for this.”
Rogue and Wanda glanced at each other and just shook their heads, Australians were weird.
…
“You’re right,” Sharon told Jubilee as they sat in the entertainment room with Kitty, Doug, and several others as they flipped through Netflix, trying to agree on something to watch, “Dr McCoy was pretty cool.”
“Told you he was awesome,” Jubilee was nursing her fourth hot chocolate made from the man’s special blend.
“McCoy,” Doug said the name slowly then perked up, “oh, we should totally watch The Voyage Home.”
“If we’re watching Star Trek,” Christy said from where she was sitting in one of the chairs, “then we’re watching Star Trek Into Darkness with Cumberbatch.”
“Seriously?” Kitty frowned as if the girl had suggested putting sour cream on muffins, “no, you watch Star Trek, you go old school, this new stuff just tries way too hard to be as awesome as classic Trek.”
“You’re a purist snob,” Christy shot back.
“Hey,” Jubilee shouted, “all fandom wars I can’t join in on are to be taken outside.”
The room went quiet for a second until Sharon said, “I always thought Star Wars was better.”
“Shut up, Doug!” Jubilee pointed at the man.
“I didn’t say anything!” he defended himself.
“You were thinking it,” she eyed him suspiciously.
“Hey, The Devil Wears Prada,” Kitty pointed at the Netflix screen, “everyone loves that movie.”
Doug nodded, “Meryl Streep could play Batman.”
“Doug, you need to stay off Tumblr,” Kitty smirked at him.
“Hey,” Ben showed up and leaned on the back of the sofa between where Jubilee and Sharon were sitting.
“How’d it go with Hank?” Kitty asked.
“Good,” he let out a nervous chuckle, “later today he wants me to set myself on fire.”
“Really?” Kitty’s brow shot up.
“Cool,” Jubilee gave him a thumbs up.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Doug was the one to ask considering everyone was thinking of the times Ben’s fire had gotten a little out of hand.
“He seems to think it is,” the boy shrugged, “and the man’s a genius in like fifteen different fields, so… yeah.”
“If the Beast says it’s a smart idea,” Jubilee said, “then it’s a smart idea.”
“The Beast?” Sharon frowned, “Why is that his mutant name?”
“Ah,” Jubilee blinked as her jaw went a little slack, “I don’t know actually.”
“Well, there’s a first,” Christy smirked.
…
“Should just be through here,” Logan led the way through some snow and ice covered brush of fallen tree limbs.
Carol followed easily and as they moved past the worst of it, they found themselves at the end of a man made clearing. The tail end of the B-52 could be seen jutting out of the snow which was trying to bury it on one side.
“The whole Air Force couldn’t find this,” Carol smirked as they headed towards the wreck.
They came around the shaded side of the plane that was protected from the snow drifts, and there they could see that the wing had been ripped off leaving a bit of a gaping hole in the fuselage.
“Carol,” Logan grabbed her arm just as she was heading towards the opening and she looked back at her friend. She knew that look.
“Damn,” a part of her knew that there was a distinct possibility that Lockton wouldn’t survive the crash but she wanted to think that she was just being pessimistic.
Stepping up to the hole, she pulled back on the metal which made a horrible screeching sound as it tore. There was just enough room for her and Logan to slip through into the lower deck. There was no lighting as the plane had lost all power so she pulled out a flashlight and treaded carefully.
It didn’t take her long to see Lockton’s body laying on the floor, curled up on his side.
With a heavy heart she squatted down next to him and laid him on his back, his face cold and blue, he’d been gone for a very long time. He was clutching his stomach and she could see the red staining his uniform and hands. His eyes were stuck open so she closed them.
“It never gets any easier, does it,” Carol said out loud, not really expecting the man to reply.
Logan was instead sniffing the air.
“Something bothering you?” she asked as she stood.
“I’m catching a wiff of something,” he scratched his nose and headed back down the flight deck.
“Well, I’m going to call it in,” she pulled out her satellite phone.
She didn’t have the best reception inside the metal plane and moved towards the front and climbed the ladder into the co-pilot’s chair, leaning forward so she could see the sky through the windows but was careful not to touch any of the buttons, the investigators later would want everything exactly the way it was left.
“This is Captain Carol Danvers,” she said to the other person on the end of the phone, “I’ve located Victor Oscar Lima, requesting retrieval of site, note we have one casualty on board.”
“Captain Danvers,” the man on the other end said, “sorry to hear it but we’re pinging your sat phone now, looks like we’ll have the retrieval crew with you within half an hour.”
“Understood,” she hung up and sat the phone down on the console, glancing around the board, trying to figure out what happened.
Looking over at the pilot’s seat everything looked normal… perfect even. Nothing was ripped or torn, no shrapnel, no blood…
Then how did Lockton get injured?
Not even bothering with the ladder this time, Carol jumped down to the deck below and headed towards the bowels of the plane, passing Logan as she did so.
“We got problems,” he told her as he jogged behind her through the compartments to the missile bay.
“No kidding,” she pointed to the damaged lock on the storage containers that held the warheads before they were inserted into the missiles to be launched.
Throwing open the lid, she was greeted by an empty space where a warhead was supposed to be. The second box proved much the same.
“Someone stole two tactical nukes,” this was not good.
“Not just someone,” Logan sniffed the air, “a mutant. Azazel.”
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X-Men: The (fan fic) Series 
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